Page 33 of Snowed In With the Maverick
But he wasn’t worried about his brother right now; Daniel was a big boy.
His only concern was the stunning woman who’d just reappeared in the doorway, holding two steaming-hot mugs. She’d changed out of her dress into jeans and a soft gray knit sweater, her hair tied back in a ponytail. “Here you go,” she said, placing the mug in front of him, close enough for him to catch a slight breath of her shampoo, or body lotion, or something that smelled so damn good he almost couldn’t say thanks.
The scent disappeared like the fleeting satisfaction of an oscillating fan when she moved to a chair near the fireplace, the farthest possible seat away from him. He tried not to take this personally as he took a sip of the hot coffee.
Andrea perched on the edge of the couch as though she was about to take flight. Was she regretting inviting him in? He glanced out the window again. Surely she wasn’t expecting him to drive in this weather. Did she thinkhewas expecting anything?
Whatever it was, he had the feeling it would be up to him to diffuse the tension. “What’s the next project?” he asked. “Now that this space is finished?”
Andrea blew a little on her drink and took a small sip. “I’m going to paint the bedrooms. Install some new light fixtures. I’m saving the retiling of two of the bathrooms for last.” She scrunched her nose. “The YouTube videos don’t paint a pretty picture of that process.”
“So, this is really the first time you’ve done this?” Seth asked. “You really had no experience?”
“With the amount of home reno and decorating shows I’ve watched, I feel like I’ve been doing it my whole life,” Andrea said. She sat back in her seat a little. Good. She seemed to be relaxing a bit.
“Favorite show?” he asked. Not that he’d know anything about it. He didn’t watch much TV, but when he did, it was usually the news or Sunday night football.
“Barn to Boutique, with Ruby Turner, for sure,” Andrea said. “It’s the one where they take old barns and repurpose them into boutique hotels, wedding venues, event spaces. I’ve taken a lot of notes.”
“It shows,” he said, glancing around the room again. After so many years of growing up in the sprawling estate on the Triple T Ranch, he could see the appeal of a smaller, cozier space. His family had space to escape from one another, which probably had a part to play in the less-than-Brady Bunchfamily dynamics over the years.
Andrea placed her mug on the table, then went to the window and peered outside. “I hope you don’t mind wainscoting and peach wallpaper,” she said. “It doesn’t look like you’ll be going anywhere tonight.”
Chapter Eleven
The second the words came out of her mouth, Andrea’s heart fluttered with the realization of what was happening. Had she just invited Seth to stay over?
“You never know around here,” Seth said. “It could lighten up. Is there anything I can help you with while we’re waiting?”
Andrea felt a rush of relief at the suggestion of a task. “I was going to decorate more tomorrow. Finish the tree and the rest of the front room.”
“I’m no—what did you say her name was? Ruby Turner? But I’ll help however I can.”
She did her best to mask the slow, steadying breath she took to calm her racing pulse. “There are some boxes in the attic. Do you mind helping me lug them down?”
“Just show me where,” said Seth.
After the chemistry that was blazing on the dance floor, feeling Seth’s firm body against hers, being alone together now in the quiet of her home felt like a match ready to ignite. She wanted badly to be close to the flame, but knowing how easily she could get burned…it was tugging her in the opposite direction.
They would decorate, ride out the storm, and once it was safe for him to drive, Seth would be on his way, leaving a very turned-on Andrea in the safety of her home. Until then, this little project would keep her from doing anything stupid.
The third-floor attic was accessible through a narrow staircase beside the second-floor broom closet. Andrea climbed up first, keenly aware of Seth right behind her.
She flicked on the dim overhead light and surveyed the boxes in semi-organized rows. The movers had brought them up on moving day, and she’d been otherwise occupied and sorting through things as she needed them.
Andrea pulled open the flap of the first box. “I think some of the labels came off in the move,” she said. The box was filled with old textbooks, and the second held her summer camping gear. “Bingo.” She pulled the top off the third box to reveal strings of lights and a plaid tree skirt.
“Just let me know what to do,” said Seth. She was resisting looking at him in the tight, low-ceilinged space. Just feeling his presence was enough to put her over the edge. The last thing she needed was to come face-to-face with his piercing blue eyes, the clean-shaven skin of his firm jawline and those lips that she wanted, needed, all over her.
Instead, she focused on the boxes. “These ones need to come down,” Andrea said, pointing to two clear plastic crates and a smaller cardboard box.
Seth piled the smaller box on top of one of the crates, then turned toward the stairs. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and the thick rods of muscles on his forearms strained as he hauled the boxes toward the staircase. She allowed herself a moment to take in the alluring gorgeous man in her home, moving her boxes, about to help her decorate for the holidays. The scene was so effortlessly domestic, yet the simple act of him doing it felt incredibly intimate—and, in a way, impossibly sexy.
She leaned over to pick up the third box, and an unwelcome memory of Harold suddenly popped into her mind. Before things had turned ugly, when it was still exciting and shiny and new, and her impression of him was still of a funny, brilliant, charming and handsome man, Harold had visited her place. She remembered seeing him take in her living space at the condo, an older building with high ceilings, original crown moldings where she’d lived for the past seven years.
“Who knows,” Harold had said, flashing her that charming grin she knew had charmed so many people, “maybe one day you’ll be packing your things and moving over to mine.”
The idea that he felt so positive about their future was thrilling, but at the same time, she remembered being irked that he’d assumed she’d be the one to move, rather than him. His place was bigger, but not by much, and he’d done nothing to make it his own other than put his clothes in his drawers and a few books on the shelves. Everything else had been furnished by the museum.
